"Good morning, Zachariah," he spluttered, over the edge of the towel. "Did you sleep well?"
"No, suh, Marse Kenneth, Ah slep' powerful porely. Ah don't reckon Ah had mah eyes close' more'n fifteen seconds all night long, suh."
His master peered at him. Zachariah's eyes were not yet thoroughly open.
"You mean you did not have them open more than fifteen seconds, you rascal. Why, you were asleep and snoring by nine o'clock."
"Yas, suh, yas, suh,—but Ah done got 'em wide open ag'in 'side o' no time. Ah jes' couldn't holp worryin', Marse Kenneth, 'bout you all. Ah sez to mahself, ef Marse Kenneth he ain' got no fitten place to lay his weary haid—"
"Oh, then you were not kept awake by noises or—by the by, did you hear any noises?"
"Noises? No, SUH! Dis yere cabin hit was like a grave. Thass what kep' me awake, mos' likely. Ah reckon Ah is used to noises. Ah jes' couldn't go to sleep widdout 'em, Marse Kenneth. Wuzzen't even a cricket er a—"
His master's hearty laugh caused him to cut his speech short. A wary glance out of the corner of his eye satisfied him that it was now time to change the subject.
"Done fed de hosses, suh, an' mos' ready to packen up fo' de juhney, suh. Yas, SUH! Ev'thing all hunky-dory jes' soon as Marse Kenneth done had his breakfuss. YAS, suh! Yas, SUH!"
They ate breakfast by candle-light, Striker and Eliza and Kenneth. There was no sign of the beautiful and exasperating girl. Phineas was strangely glum and preoccupied, his wife too busy with her flap-jacks to take even the slightest interest in the desultory conversation.